


I Handled It.

by autumnwritesoccasionally



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, BAMF Reader, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26602369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnwritesoccasionally/pseuds/autumnwritesoccasionally
Summary: “I don’t need my old man to handle my shit.”
Relationships: Jax Teller/Reader
Kudos: 15





	I Handled It.

Of course your gas light comes on in the middle of nowhere after dark. You see a sign for a gas station up ahead. _Lucky me._

You pull into the run down establishment and park in an open spot–which isn’t hard since the place seems empty. You get out, pay, and grab the gas nozzle to fill up. You watch absentmindedly as the numbers on the screen go up in a blur.

You check your phone while you wait. Maybe you missed a message from Jax. Maybe he’s already home and wondering where you are. You try not to feel disappointed when no new messages are found. Letting out a deep sigh, you turn to put your phone back in your bag in the passenger seat. 

Suddenly there are hands on you, turning you around sharply, throwing your back into the car and then you feel a knife to your throat. 

“Ahh, I knew it. You _are_ Jax Teller’s Old Lady.” The mexican biker’s face is just inches from yours.

“What. do. you. want?” You grit out through your teeth.

“Not sure yet, I just couldn’t let this opportunity slide.” His hand slides down your hip. “This _fine_ opportunity _._ ”

“How stupid are you, _cabrón_? Do you know what I can do to you?” Your voice is confident, some would even say downright intimidating.

Laughing, he presses the knife harder, you hiss as it breaks through skin and blood trickles down your neck. “Your old man ain’t out here to protect you, puta.”

You bring your knee up as hard you can in between his legs. He doubles over, groaning in pain. 

“I don’t need my old man to handle my shit.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Jax pulls his bike into the driveway. It’s late and he didn’t have the chance to call. Things with with you and him have already been a bit strained, so he’s bracing himself for a fight.

Walking into the house, Jax makes his way to the bedroom until he sees a light on in the bathroom. Cracking open the door, his eyes are drawn to your discarded clothes on the floor, he notices the red stains on your white shirt.

“Is that blood?” 

You jump at his words, not hearing him come in. He bends down to pick it up before looking at you. You turn around and Jax’s eyes widen. He drops the shirt and quickly approaches you, his hand going to your chin, tipping it up so he can see better.

“What the hell happened?” He inspects you more closely, the cut on your neck definitely isn’t pretty, but it’s also not serious. That plus a black eye. All together you got off lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.

“You should see the other guy.” Your tone is flat, not really caring to expound more than that. 

“Y/N. Who did this? What happened?” 

You sigh, knowing Jax won’t let this go. 

“Just some young punk Mayan that cornered me at that shitty gas station off 90 in Lodi.” You push past him and head into the bedroom, “I handled it.”

He follows you, the expression on his face a mixture of concern and rage “What the fuck do you mean you _handled_ it?”

A rage of your own comes bubbling to the surface. You’ve been able to keep it together since you got home, but Jax’s anger has you channeling yours, too.

“Does it matter!? I’m an Old Lady, right!? This is part of my _duty_ , right!?” You pick up the lamp on your nightstand and throw it at the wall next to Jax. He flinches but doesn’t move.

“I can’t do this shit anymore, Jax!” Your chest is heaving as the adrenaline quickly spikes, then drains out of your system. Your hands start to shake and you feel your legs giving out.

Jax comes towards you, catching you before you collapse. 

“Babe…this shit… _my_ shit…it’s not supposed to touch you. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” Jax chokes out the last words as he holds you, his hand threading through your hair to cradle your head to his chest. 

You attempt to take a few deep breaths, but they’re shaky at best. You lean your head back to look him in the eyes. “This life.” You close your eyes and grip Jax’s kutte. “I can handle this life, Jax. I just don’t know that I _want_ to anymore.”

You remove yourself from his embrace and walk over to the other side of the room. You bend over to grab your packed bag from the floor and set it on the bed between you.


End file.
